


those like us

by 13pens



Series: More Than the Shadows (of Each Other) [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Family, Gen, Sister-Sister Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:38:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1683683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/13pens/pseuds/13pens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zelena knows hunger of all kinds. Only now does it really occur to her that here, she may never feel any of them.</p><p>Most of them, anyway. The smell of food meant for her and warmth emitting from the kitchen is enough to be her security. Lasagna is her new security. </p><p>Maybe. If it’s even all that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Deviates from 3x20 canon, in which that corny ass fight scene was a little more serious than Regina glowing while David Bowie’s "Changes" plays in the background, and most importantly, Zelena lives.
> 
> This fic is a result of already existing anger at how the show handled Zelena and Regina, flying back home to be dorks with my little sisters, and Sarah Manning + Helena feelings. So you know, enjoy.

The fight feels like it’s been going on for hours. She’s already lost the baby and the rest of her ingredients, carried away from the battlefield by Prince Idiot and Captain Eyeliner, and there isn’t a point anymore now that the barn has been reduced to broken wood and ash. It’s been going on for so long, she doesn’t even notice how much of her blood has stained the piles of hay, how much her body is aching to collapse. She just keeps fighting. Keeps Rumple fighting. Pushing Regina onto the floor with heavy thuds, and keeps getting up when Regina does the same. Maybe once or twice Emma gets lucky enough to shoot the gun in her general direction and Zelena is skillful enough to evade it. But once she lands a bullet in the arm holding the dagger, once she drops it, and it’s in Regina’s hands, she knows she’s done. 

 

She doesn’t even know what words are coming out of her mouth anymore. She keeps shouting about destiny and that _this is who we are, sis, give it up_. And then something changes. Regina hands the dagger to Emma, and the purple mist about Regina’s hands is replaced with bright, bright white, shining against her face and illuminating the wet, strong, brown eyes locked on Zelena’s. 

 

She is still conscious when Regina delivers the last blow, with magic saturated with light; once she feels the tug of her pendant come loose, she feels the world growing dark and cold.

 

“ _Finish her,_ ” she hears Rumple say, distant and bitter and cruel. But Regina is crying and Zelena’s heavy head is cradled in the crook of her arm.

 

“ _No_ ,” she says. “ _No more. That’s enough. No more_.”

 

Everything goes black.

 

* * *

 

Black is now green. The void of sound is replaced with her own breathing, every clack of her shoes reverberating in the air against marble columns, the rustle of her clothes. The Wizard’s silhouette is before her, presenting to her in the hall warm like blood, like sensation. He shows her a face, sweet and kind, with crinkling eyes to accompany that welcoming and almost naive smile. 

 

“ _Who’s that_?” She sounds so far away from herself, like the voice isn’t hers.

 

“ _Your sister, Regina_.”

 

And for a moment, a very small, small flame burns. “ _I’ve got a sister_?”


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina feels something in her heart soften. “Renewal is a terrifying prospect.”
> 
> “It seems terrifying to live,” Zelena corrects.

 

Zelena is still unconscious when Regina comes into her hospital room. She pulls up the chair to sit by her, as she’s done for the past couple days. The blood is slowly returning to her sister’s face as she goes through bags and bags through the IV, but she’s immobile as a log, save for the steady rise and fall of her chest.

 

She didn’t want to go that far. It would’ve been easier if it hadn’t, less damage to fix, less anxiety over what they were to do about Zelena. But she was just like Regina, a fighter, in all senses: stubborn, resilient. An idiot. Perhaps she remained asleep to spite Regina, to prolong the necessary conversation that she’d been preparing and rehearsing since they rushed her to the hospital.

 

But then she starts to move, and Regina lets go of the breath she wasn’t aware she was holding. Zelena inhales deeply before her eyes flutter open ever so slightly, squinting at the sudden light. Regina watches her fully awaken, how Zelena’s eyes remain on the ceiling before slowly registering the presence of another. When she finally turns her head to look at her, it looks like she’ll need another bag of fluids.

 

“Good,” Regina says, mouth tight but voice soft, “You’re awake. Do you need water?”

 

Zelena opens her sticky mouth, lips dry and tongue stiff. She tries to speak, coughs, and there are actual tears in her eyes. A vulnerable nod and Regina comes forward to raise the bed, pours water into a plastic cup and brings it to Zelena’s mouth.

 

Once that is done and it seems that she’s fully composed herself, Zelena’s face is hard again, her posture stiffens and Regina intuitively distances herself accordingly.

 

“You kept me alive,” Zelena rasps. “Why did you do that?”

 

Regina disposes of the cup and sits back down on the chair, crosses her legs, tilts her head. Any kind of semblance of control that she can manifest.

 

“Heroes don’t kill.”

 

Zelena scoffs. “And what, you’re a hero now?” She doesn’t let Regina answer, instead settles her head back against the pillow and closes her eyes. “Why are you here?”

 

“You lost a lot of blood, have several fractured ribs. The bullet in your arm has been removed and bandaged,” Regina explains. “But all magic comes with a price, even the removal of it. Your body isn’t coping well.”

 

Pain briefly flits across Zelena’s face as she is made aware of what is missing.

 

“I can speed up your recovery process, if you’d like.”

 

“No why would you do that? Aren’t you supposed to be punishing me, not helping me?” Zelena moves her head to face away from Regina. “No. I don’t want need or want anything you have to offer. I imagine I’ll die here anyway.”

 

There’s a sudden but very slight pressure in Regina’s chest and stomach, and she’s quick to respond. “I’m not letting that happen.”

 

“Just because we’re sisters doesn’t mean you have to pretend to care about me.”

 

Here it is, Regina thinks. Here is what she hopes will be a second chance for the both of them, a new beginning. A door to be reopened and walked through. “There is no pretending, Zelena,” she says softly, prompting Zelena to look at her. When she does, she hopes what Zelena sees is genuine and not vulnerability, not desperation. “The way we’ve been, we’re not really sisters. We share blood, yes, but …”

 

Zelena’s blue eyes show no sign of anticipation. 

 

“We could start over, and be real family.”

 

As soon as she says it, Regina regrets it.  She wishes she had never thought it up, but deep within her she is starving for any kind of family, _the last_ of her blood family, and now Zelena is laughing as hard as her hurt ribs will allow her, so much that all the words that could have possibly formed in Regina’s head freeze and she can do nothing more than walk straight out of the room.

 

The next morning, she is more than surprised to find a missed call and a voicemail of Whale mediating Zelena’s request that she comes back in as soon as possible.

 

* * *

 

When Regina arrives, it’s nearing noon, and tardiness creates a visceral tension in the room. She finds Zelena facing away, empty cup of water in her hands, and she looks calm, but sad. It’s the kind of sadness she could recognize from a mile away.

 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it sooner,” she says genuinely. “Beyond you, I do have other damage to control.”

 

Zelena remains quiet, rimming the cup with her thumb and moving her toes beneath her blanket. Regina is about to sigh and demand what it is that she’s been called for, but then:

 

“I shouldn’t have laughed.” It’s just above a whisper, and sounds so, so small. “For one it hurt to breathe in the first place and secondly it was because I was terrified.”

 

Regina feels something in her heart soften. “Renewal is a terrifying prospect.”

 

“It seems terrifying to _live_ ,” Zelena corrects, finally shifting her head to meet Regina’s eyes. 

 

And she understands. And she can’t possibly say to her that she frets over nothing, that it would all just be the beginning of her happy ending. She can only reach out, place her fingertips at the back of Zelena’s hand.

 

Upon contact Zelena’s entire demeanor hardens back into something nearing disdain, like she’s putting on a front that doesn’t go with the shiny pinkness of her eyes.

 

“I think,” she says, quietly but crisply, “given the circumstances that I find myself in … I suppose it is in my best interest to consider your proposal.” 

 

“This is a second chance,” Regina says, “not a business transaction.”

 

And Zelena rolls her eyes, and suddenly that front is no longer a front but who she is. “I mean, my other option is probably to endure your shoddy justice system, so really.”

 

Regina actually smirks, and maybe it’s wishful thinking, but perhaps she sees a ghost of a muscle tug up on the side of Zelena’s lip. 

 

“You’re lucky we don’t do public executions anymore. And that we don’t follow the rules around here much either.”

 

“Are you going to help me breathe without feeling excruciating pain or no? It hurts enough to look at you. Put yourself to use.”

 


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regina hesitates and makes a face like she’s worried, and worried of what Zelena can’t even begin to guess. She’s watched her for years and years and she doesn’t know a thing.
> 
> She doesn’t know a single thing.

Two days and signed papers later, Zelena is released. Regina still hasn’t told anyone but Robin and Henry what she’s doing (Whale and his staff are under the impression that her next destination is the station, not the mansion), because right now there isn’t a soul but those two who would both understand and not shout at her for it. 

 

Regina swears Zelena is doing it on purpose when she makes helping her up the stairs that much harder. Without a drop of magic in her being to pester Regina in some way, she’s resorted to leaning heavily, stepping on toes, accidentally shoving, and pinching.

 

“You don’t stop that soon and I _will_ push you down these steps,” Regina sharply warns. She doesn’t even need to be doing this, she can probably damn well walk up on her own, and if that’s not a satisfied smirk on Zelena’s face then maybe this isn’t Regina wanting to stick her sister’s head in a tub of water. Maybe this isn’t Regina growling, either.

 

“Lighten up, sis,” Zelena relents, pats a hand on Regina’s shoulder in an exaggerated manner. Then her voice gets a little heavier: “This is probably the only fun I’ll ever have.”

 

The growling stops.

 

* * *

 

“You’ll be staying here,” Regina says once they’ve reached what would from now on be Zelena’s room. “It was originally the guest room, so I apologize if it’s under decorated. You can pick and choose what to transfer from the farmhouse later on.”

 

When Zelena kicks off her borrowed boots and eases herself on the bed, Regina can see the visible effort she is making to not show how _relieved_ she is.

 

“How long has it been since you’ve had your own bed?”

 

Zelena scowls. “How long has it been since you’ve minded your own bloody business?” she mutters, tugging up at the elastic of the yoga pants and down at hem of the oversized blue sweater that Regina had given her. “I had the farmhouse, you were just talking about it.”

 

“You know what I mean. One you didn’t just take.”

 

“Since I ran away from home, then. Happy? Could you bother with a glass of water?”

 

Regina hesitates, because who knows if its so Zelena can do something stupid like make a run for the front door or make a rope of sheets and climb down the window. 

 

“You don’t leave this room. I will be right back.”

 

“Yeah, sure, because I did so well getting up here on my own,” is the unexpected but unsurprising grumble.

 

She could just poof that damn glass of water into existence without having to go through the steps between going downstairs and coming back up with the glass in her hands, but she’s been made soft. She doesn’t want to rub salt in wounds. 

 

Gods, she doesn’t even know who she _is_ anymore.

 

When she returns, she’s half afraid that the two minutes spent away was enough for Zelena to abuse, but then she finds her standing in front of the dresser across the room, holding a wooden picture frame. 

 

Regina’s stomach drops, because she forgot it was there, and how could she forget it was there ––

 

“It’s your father,” Zelena states, and her voice is that odd combination of indifference and longing when one is trying to hide the other.

 

“I have your water,” is all Regina can really say, because yes, it is her father. Zelena watched her kill him, probably.

 

She places it back atop the dresser and goes to take the glass from Regina’s hand, plopping back down on the mattress before taking sips.

 

“Henry used to hide in here when he was feeling troubled,” Regina says, looking down and leaning against the doorframe. “He’d take that picture from my study and talk to him. I acted like I never knew but he was always loud enough to hear in the next room.”

 

Zelena huffs a soft laugh. “Even him. If I had a list of things I didn’t envy you for, your father wouldn’t be on it, that’s for sure.”

 

“What were they like, then?”

 

“They?”

 

“The ones that found you. When you were a baby.”

 

Once she asks it she realizes how stupid a question it could be; she doesn’t know much about the specificities of Zelena’s life but she knows that she was desperate enough to look at Cora and Henry and Rumpelstiltskin and think “that life should be _mine_.”

 

But Zelena surprises her. Continually.

 

“I suppose no matter whose blood I have, I really, truly was my mother’s.”

 

“Was she good to you?”

 

Those blue eyes are shining and Zelena probably doesn’t even know it. “Very.” The shine turns into tears, and she smiles but she winces. “Then she died. She was very ill, and––“ Her hands start to shake. Regina comes forward to pluck the glass from Zelena’s hands, places it on the end table and sits next to her, only for Zelena to look the other direction.

 

“I could’ve helped her, you know,” she says. “But he, my father. He said I’d make it worse. Because that’s all I did, with my magic, it seemed. He didn’t tell me until I was older how wicked he thought I was but I knew. I knew all along but it still hurt because I’d tried so _hard_ …”

 

She tapers off and Regina can’t see her face but she knows from her voice and how her shoulder shakes that she’s crying.

 

“Don’t tell me about him anymore,” she says, as softly as she genuinely can, touches her fingers to that shaking arm. “Tell me more about your mother.”

 

“I can’t remember her anymore, I can’t––“ and the mask that was already slipping falls off entirely. Zelena stands up from the bed as if she’d explode if she had stayed seated any longer, has her palms pressed against the sockets of her eyes.

 

“I’d like you to leave,” she muffles, turning away and wiping at her face with her sleeves.

 

Regina gently rises and wordlessly exits. She even closes the door.

 

* * *

 

Zelena is left alone for so long that there is no longer sun against her window, and she thinks maybe Regina had left and forgotten about her, or that she’s changed her mind and perhaps they’ve been preparing her cell at the station and soon enough the Savior herself will come to bring her there.

 

But when she opens her door, there’s a box of tissues at her feet with a piece of paper stuck on it.

 

_When you’re ready, come down for dinner. I’m assuming you’re not against lasagna._

 

Fucking hell. 

 

She takes a tissue before tossing the box on her bed, dabs her damp eyes for any crust and pads downstairs. Midway, when she can actually hear things clattering in the kitchen, is when tears threaten to make another appearance. 

 

Zelena knows hunger of all kinds. Only now does it really occur to her that here, she may never feel any of them.

 

Most of them, anyway. The smell of food meant for her and warmth emitting from the kitchen is enough to be her security. _Lasagna_ is her new security. 

 

Maybe. If it’s even all that.

 

Regina is finishing a conversation on her phone when she spots Zelena at the doorway. 

 

“––sweetheart. Tell Snow to stop smothering your uncle.” 

 

The bright smile and shining in her eyes is still there when she hangs up the phone, and it’s too easy to remember the first time she’d ever seen her. Except this time it’s different. There’s a permanence to it.

 

Regina opens a cupboard and stands on her toes to reach for plates.

 

“Do you want me to get that?” Zelena finds herself offering, and who she even is she no longer knows. But Regina nods and she moves out the way so Zelena can easily lift two out of the cupboard.

 

“What are these even doing here if you can’t even reach them?”

 

“I don’t use these ones very often. I thought I might now.”

 

They’re perfectly plain. Zelena’s confused for a moment, but she realizes, and doesn’t know whether to feel offended that Regina might ever want to _tone down_ the decadence of her lifestyle just because of her, or whether to feel grateful that she actually _would_.

 

And then they have dinner. And a part of Zelena is so annoyed because it is really _is_ all that and it’s official now that lasagna is indeed her new sense of security.

 

* * *

 

“I’m sorry for earlier,” Regina says while they eat, and Zelena realizes that if she apologizes one more bloody time–– “I didn’t mean to bring back unpleasant memories.”

 

Zelena looks down at her food, carefully cutting a segment with the side of her fork and sticking it through after it’s been severed. “I’m not good with making my vulnerability visible.”

 

“It’s okay to do that,” Regina says softly, “It really is.”

 

“‘No matter what you feel on the inside, always put on your best face.’ That’s what my father kept telling me.”

 

She peers up to see Regina clenching her jaws and trying to disguise it as chewing.

 

“But mother was different,” she finds herself saying, only stopping to put the piece of lasagna in her mouth. She should be afraid of opening this part of her history back up again but now she’s got better control over herself. No dramatic rises and demands to be alone necessary.

 

“She used to … I was a bit of a crybaby as a child”––at this Regina snorts, probably because it’s so _believable_ and she left a box of tissues outside her door damn it all––“but only at night. I never had any friends, always scared them away. People in town gave me looks. My father did the same, when he thought I wasn’t looking and I bottled it all up for hours on end because I was putting on my best face, until the sun was down. She would hear me, come to me. Wrap me up in the only blanket she had and sang until I stopped crying. And I always did when she did that.”

 

She feels like she’s spoken too much and to counter the words leaving her mouth she stuffs it with more of her food until none is left on her plate. She doesn’t look at Regina, at whatever face she could be making, and the silence is actually excruciating that of course the next thing she says is only to balance honesty with cruelty:

 

“Can’t say that it seemed it was ever that way with you and Cora.”

 

Regina’s grip on her utensils hardens. “No, no. We … no, it wasn’t.”

 

She didn’t mean to cause the shiver in her voice. She had forgotten about the detail that Regina was now currently remembering, and now there’s an uneasiness upon her, a weight going downwards in her lungs and maybe it’s sorrow, maybe it’s regret. She doesn’t know.

 

“Why are you doing this for me?”

 

Regina shifts in her chair, takes time to collect her words, to bring herself out of whatever it was that she was in.

 

“There are things that people in this town will do to you after what you’ve done if you are not under my care,” she says slowly and carefully, willing Zelena to understand. She thinks back to Rumple’s bloodlust, his rough _finish her_. 

 

“And you can say you’ve changed, prove it a dozen times and more, save lives, be the hero––but evil, wickedness, those words follow people like us around like flies.”

 

“People like us. And who are we? How do you even know I can be part of ‘we’, you’ve only known me for so long.”

 

“I know all you want is to be wanted,” Regina says gently, and when the words leave her mouth Zelena feels like glass, fragile and transparent. “That that has been your true motivation for everything thus far. And that if there were only someone who consistently believed in you, you wouldn’t have to resort to the things you did.”

 

“And what,” Zelena presses, “ _You’re_ going to be that person?”

 

Regina hesitates and makes a face like she’s worried, and worried of what Zelena can’t even begin to guess. She’s watched her for years and years and she doesn’t know a thing.

 

She doesn’t know a single thing.

 

“If you need me to be. If you _want_.”

 

There’s something hurting just behind her eyes and below her heart and this is officially the heaviest dinner conversation she has ever had. And gods, she should’ve taken box of tissues with her.

 

“Yes. That’d be nice. Yeah.”


End file.
